The Howlers
by I.Weave.Dreams
Summary: The Howlers, led by one brooding Derek Hale, are the best a capella group at Beacon Hills University. Competition comes in the form of freshman Stiles Stilinski who joins a rival group. Things get even more complicated for the new rivals when Stiles, as part of his full ride Hale Family Scholarship, must be Derek's the assistant for the year.


**_QUICK NOTE! If you see one of these * next to a song, I'd really recommend you play that song while reading. It puts you even more in the atmosphere of the story as well as just making it more fun ^_^ I'll always say which songs to have "loaded' before each chapter. For this one. "Roar" by Katy Perry and "Counting Stars" by One Republic. Look for the * as a reminder!_**

* * *

"Stiles, would you just pick a station already?" said a weary sheriff, dragging a hand down his face before letting it slap down on the steering wheel.

"Dude, dad, there's nothing on! And we just spent the last hour listening to the Talking Heads, so it's my turn to pick. If you had just let me listen to that Rihan-"

"No! No more Rihanna," Sheriff Stilinski blurted, startling in his seat as if suddenly shaken awake. His son had played the pop singer's CD the entire past week as he packed for college, the lyrics blasting through their house's thin walls. Over and over again the CD played, so much so that the sheriff had been mouthing the words to one of the songs unnoticed, until his partner caught him in the car while they'd been patrolling. He hadn't been able to live it down since.

For the past five hours, Stiles and the sheriff had been driving to Beacon Hills University. It was Stiles' first year of college, and the third time they had made the trek up here. The first was to visit the college. At the time, this university had only been on Stiles' "Maybe One Day in a Million Years" Wish List. He'd just wanted to walk around the campus and imagine what it was like to be a student there for a day.

Mostly he'd gone coffee house hopping, loudly quoting poets the likes of Edgar Allan Poe and Maya Angelou and complaining that the music in there was "too mainstream" and that he'd save his "hard earned Trust Fund money" and take his business elsewhere. The sheriff would have strangled Stiles for his antics if he hadn't been used to them for the past 18 years.

Really though, despite horsing around and having fun mocking the pretentious air that the private university gave off, Stiles did really want to attend, and had applied for the Hale Scholarship for Outstanding Academics. The engineering program here was rated the best in the country and probably everywhere else in the universe too.

The only reason they'd even gone was because the university was only an hour's drive away from another one that Stiles had applied to and had a much, much better chance of getting into. The second time they'd gone down was when Stiles went to the award ceremony to accept the scholarship offer. Literally hundreds of thousands of students had applied from all over the world, and only five got chosen.

That time they'd been flown down by the Hales; first class and everything. The whole ceremony had been like walking onto a movie set or having some crazy, alcohol induced dream. People wore dresses and suits that cost more than Stiles' house, jewelry that had nearly blinded him it had so many diamonds, and ate food that was so rich Stiles felt sick later on that night, nearly puking down the front of his cashmere robe the hotel they'd been put up in provided.

As ecstatic as Stiles was about winning the scholarship and spending the weekend in a million dollar mansion and luxurious hotel suite, he'd never felt more uncomfortable or out of place in his life. When Talia Hale, the head of the Hale family, was giving her speech at the dinner table, she apologized for two of their family members not being in attendance because they were off at some competition or something, but Stiles couldn't remember their names because he'd been too busy staring at the millions of forks next to his plate, trying to figure out what they were all for.

If the competition the other Hales were at was for Who's the Most Beautiful Person in this Room then Stiles had no doubt the Hales tie, because every single other one of the Hales was drop dead gorgeous. Even the one named Peter, who'd held Stiles' hand just a little too long for comfort when he was going down the Hale line, shaking their hands as he accepted his award. Especially him, actually.

But as lavish as the ceremony and the people were, the Hales were actually pretty demure compared to everyone else. They were clearly the wealthiest in the room, but except for a few tasteful jewels adoring the women's necklaces and the men's cufflinks, they didn't bother showing off their wealth. That'd settled Stiles' nerves somewhat, especially knowing that he'd have to be working for them during the next four years as part of his full-ride scholarship.

"Whoa! Whoa! Turn it up, dad, this is my jam!" Stiles shouted even though he was the one fiddling with the controls.

The beginning of Katy Perry's song "Roar" started playing from the speakers.

_*I used to bite my tongue and hold my breath  
Scared to rock the boat and make a mess  
So I sat quietly, agreed politely  
I guess that I forgot I had a choice  
I let you push me past the breaking point  
I stood for nothing, so I fell for everything  
_  
They'd just reached the campus and cars were everywhere, people milling about the campus as they unloaded the boxes they had packed their lives away into, returning students already horsing around with their friends, happy to see them again, and dogs who'd been brought along for the ride barked in farewell to their humans.

Stiles looked at it all in wonder as the castle-like dorms loomed in the distance, brilliant and gothic in their structure. Energy was already coursing through his body, sizzling like firecrackers through his nerves and sending him bouncing in his seat. The atmosphere of finally arriving at university, the possibility of starting his life anew, and the music coursed through him.

They were driving at a steady crawl as they waited in the line of cars to find a spot to park so Stiles could unload his stuff. Up head, Stiles saw a large group of students walking along the sidewalk. Stiles quickly rolled down the window and, just as the chorus hit, he belted out the lyrics.

"I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire  
'Cause I am a champion and you're gonna hear me roar  
Louder, louder than a lion  
'Cause I am a champion and you're gonna hear me roar  
Oh oh oh oh oh oh  
Oh oh oh oh oh oh  
Oh oh oh oh oh oh."

He'd only been able to see their backs at that point, but now the car was pulling past them just as they'd turned as one to look at who was singing. As he did, his eyes connected with the person leading the group, and Stiles wasn't sure he'd ever seen a more gorgeous human being in his life.

"You're gonna hear me roarrrrrr!" Stiles sang out, making a performance of it by pointing at the group and then holding his arms out wide like he really was King of the Jungle.

Stiles wasn't exactly shy to begin with, but music always did something to him. Something clicked in his brain whenever it was playing and just flowed through him so that everything fell into place and there was nothing else but the music. He'd loved music since he was a kid, ever since his doctor had figured out it could control his ADD in a way not even prescription medication could.

The guy just stared blankly, unamused at Stiles as he sang, but some of the others catcalled and 'whooped' and cheered him on. Either way, Stiles didn't care. He was too happy to care because he was pretty sure he'd never actually get to talk to that guy anyway. Guys with faces and bodies like that didn't talk to guys with faces and bodies like Stiles'.

And by then it didn't matter because the line ahead had suddenly cleared, and the sheriff sped forward. The sudden force drove Stiles back into his seat with a laugh. This was going to be a good year.

* * *

By the time Stiles was done unpacking and saying goodbye to his father, he felt exhausted. That was the most physical labor he'd done in...well...ever. His roommate was apparently already moved in though because when they'd gotten there, one half of the room was already taken over. A Green Lantern poster was stuck to the wall over the other guy's bed, and Stiles' worry over having a serial killer for a roommate who'd want to cut off pieces of his skin in the middle of the night, or a pervert for a roommate who'd want to lick pieces of his skin in the middle of the night, eased a little. Anyone who liked Hal Jordan couldn't be terrible, right?

Stiles was glad that his roommate wasn't there when he had to say goodbye to his dad. Despite the sheriff's promise that he wouldn't cry, they both did, the tears coming down silently as the two men hugged. What had really gotten Stiles was when his dad whispered, "Your mother would be proud."

Now that Stiles was alone, he figured he could either take a nap or explore the campus. Despite his arms feeling like jello, Stiles' curiosity won out as it always did, and he hopped off his bed, giving his armpits a quick smell check, before heading for the door.

As he was walking out, someone came walking in, box in hand, and the two collided.

"Oh, dude, sorry, man!"

"No, my bad, my bad!"

It took a minute, but the pair finally managed to untangle themselves.

"McCall?" Stiles huffed out as he got his breathing back in check.

The guy kneeling next to him, starting to put books back into the box, looked up at him and nodded. "Scott," he said, running a hand through a mop of black hair and blinking at him with puppy-dog brown eyes, the other hand coming up to scratch at his crooked jawline. "Stilinski?"

"Call me Stiles," said Stiles, holding a hand out. The pair shook hands, and then went back to loading the rest of Scott's stuff back into the box.

"Sorry about that," Scott apologized again, setting the box on his bed. "My mom's always said I never look where I'm going."

"It's cool," said Stiles from where he was leaning against the doorway. "All Green Lantern fans get a free pass with me."

Scott glanced up at the poster over his bed that Stiles nodded at before turning back to Stiles with a smile. "You're into comics?"

"Hell yeah!" said Stiles, puffing his chest out proudly. "'Even started my own."

"Sick! No way. You'll have to show me sometime. I know a guy who works in publishing."

It was then that Stiles really took a look at Scott. Sure, he was wearing a shirt with the image of the Death Star from Star Wars on it, but over it he had a black blazer, that while simple, looked like it was made from a material far more expensive than the cotton Stiles' own dress blazer was made out of. He also wore a nice pair of dark jeans and a pair of blue and red Nike tennis shoes that Stiles knew cost a couple hundred dollars because he'd been salivating at them last week as he stared at a picture of them online.

"My mom," said Scott, seeing Stiles staring at his clothes, and tugged self-consciously at the blazer. "After 18 years, she still tries to pick out my clothes." He slipped the blazer off and tossed it onto an empty pile of boxes like it didn't cost a few hundred dollars.

This guy definitely wasn't a scholarship student, Stiles noted, wondering where the other four Hale scholarship students were and why he wasn't shoved off to some far less nicer dorm room than this one, which had thick mahogany beams and dressers and desks, each desk having an Apple Mac computer on top, an ensuite bathroom, their owns closets, and what looked like minifridges in the corner.

Stile felt suddenly shabby in his denim jeans from Target, white shirt with an open button-up plaid shirt over it, and red Converse.

"Wanna go walk around?" said Scott. "The Club Fair is going on for Fresher's Week."

"Sure," said Stiles, even though he had no idea what the Club Fair was, but he'd been heading out anyway and any chance to stretch his legs after that car ride was good with him.

Stiles followed Scott, who seemed to already know his way around. The university was big, but because it was private, the campuses weren't as large, and they were able to walk from the dorms to the main campus. The whole way there, Stiles kept up a steady stream of conversation, and to his further surprise, Scott didn't mind his incessant chatter or heavy sarcasm.

The Club Fair, as it turned out, was where all the school's clubs lined the walkway to the Main campus. Each had their own booth or table with banners hanging overhead, decorated accordingly and shouting out and trying to draw in prospective members.

Stiles' ADD was already buzzing happily, his attention being pulled every which way from the circle of people all beating on bongo drums, the delicious smells wafting from the Organization of Latin American Students, the frantic yelling from the crowd who stood around two large TV screens set up at the Gamers United club, the group of men standing in front of a large sign with Greek letters giving some speech about honor and loyalty, the whirling from a saxophone battle going on at the Jazz Club booth, and all the noises coming from the BeatBox Club who seemed to be doing a remix of Lorde's song "Royals."

Stiles didn't know what he'd been expecting from a private university, and Beacon Hills at that, but it wasn't something as awesome and open and carefree as this. By the end of it, he'd learned how to play Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" on bongo drums, knew how to say several curse words in Japanese, could do some decent shadow puppets, and had a belly full of enchiladas.

"I wonder if chinchillas and enchiladas are related. I mean, obviously they aren't _actually_ related because one's an animal and the other's a delicious cheesy food product, but, I mean, their names are too similar for them _not_ to share some kind of connection, you know what I'm saying?"

Stiles was staring quizzically at the last surviving enchilada in his paper cartoon, poking at it experimentally with a fork, when he noticed that Scott wasn't paying any attention to him. "Listen, man, I'm asking for science; the world deserves to kn-"

Stiles followed Scott's line of sight and saw that he was staring at a table full of beautiful women. "Doing some scientific research of your own, I see," Stiles said with a wink, nudging Scott in the ribs with his elbow.

A deep red blush bloomed across Scott's cheeks and neck as he looked away.

"Who are they?" asked Stiles as he squinted at the sign over their table that had "The Acabellas" written in a rich scarlet cursive. "The Acabellas?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"They're the All Girls a capella group," said Scott, staring at them once again like he was in a trance.

Both of Stiles' eyebrows went up. "You guys have a capella groups here." He couldn't help it, he laughed. "How in the world are there women that hot in a club like that?"

"A capella groups are a big thing here," said Scott seriously. Still, Stiles stared, waiting for him to start laughing. When he didn't, Stiles' eyebrows receded further into his hairline.

"You're not serious?" It wasn't that Stiles was making fun of them. No. Stiles was of the "love whatever you love" mindset, seeing as all of the shit he loved was the kind of stuff that got him thrown into garbage bins and a one-way ticket to sitting alone at lunch. But he expected the same things that were popular in high school to be the same things that were in college, if not more so.

Scott nodded enthusiastically. "The Acabellas are really good. And, as much as it sucks to say it, the One Note Stands are too. They're an All Guys a capella group, but they're a bunch of dicks."

Stiles snorted. "The One Note Stands? Is that supposed to be clever?" It was clearly a play on "one night stand." With a name like that, he wasn't surprised Scott thought they were all douchebags.

Scott laughed. "They like to think so. Jackson Whittemore is the leader. We went to the same high school. The guy thinks he's hot shit. They're over there."

He pointed a little farther off, right down at the end of the walkway where a section of staggered bleachers were placed. It wasn't hard to figure out which one of the guys standing on them was Jackson. A tall, blond stood by himself on the first row, lording himself over the crowd of people who Stiles guessed were prospective members, dressed head to toe in clothes that looked like they'd come fresh off the runway, and he'd been the one wearing them. The guy screamed rich brat with the sneer on his mouth and up-turned nose.

"I think that guy shoved me into a locker once," Stiles mused. "Only that version of him wore massive amounts of flannel and always smelled like beef."

Scott burst out laughing and clapped a hand to Stiles' shoulder. "Man, I am so glad I got you as a roommate. Come on, we should head back. There's a party on the beach tonight. You gotta help me pick something out to wear, man; Allison is going to be there."  
  
Stiles looked back over at the table of Acabellas, wondering which one was Allison. A fiery red-head sat in one of the chairs at the table with a smile that said she liked to tear off people's heads for fun. Literally. She was undoubtedly sexy, but the blonde bombshell next to her was the one Stiles was putting his money on. She had legs for days, which were wrapped in skin tight leather pants, a red top that hugged every curve of her body, and a face that belonged on the cover of every magazine ever, from beauty to golf. She deserved to be on that cover. The blonde was talking to a slightly shorter, dark-haired girl with more pixie-like features, who was pretty in almost an exotic way, and they appeared to be laughing at something.

"Well, you've come to the right guy," said Stiles, puffing out his chest and striking a pose. "Fashionista Stiles Stilinski, at your service, monsieur."

Scott rolled his eyes good-naturedly and shoved him back down the walkway. "C'mon, Marc Jacobs, let's go."

* * *

"So these a capella groups, is it playground rules or something? Guys and girls have to be in separate groups?" said Stiles as he rode shotgun in Scott's freaking Dodge Charger. Stiles had promptly drooled all over it, making Scott wait a whole twenty minutes before getting in the car so he could marvel at it. Personally, Stiles wanted a Jeep of some kind so long as it functioned, but this car was still a thing of beauty, an ostentatious hot rod red, which was the flashiest thing about Scott, who otherwise seemed pretty low-key.

For some reason, the entire way back to their dorms and as they'd gotten ready that night, Stiles couldn't stop thinking about the a capella groups.

"Nah," said Scott, "those are the only two actually that're that way. The rest are mixed."

"The rest? They're more?" Stiles didn't remember seeing any of them at the Club Fair.

Scott pulled neatly in between a silver Porsche and a black Jaguar. "That's because most of the other groups are smaller and don't really bother showing up until recruitment days officially begin. Try-outs," Scott added when Stiles stared at him blankly.

"All the a capella groups hold try-outs the first week of school in the auditorium. You perform in front of everyone and if one of the groups wants you, they'll contact you. If more than one group wants you, then you get to pick. Usually though, if the Acabellas call you or the One Note Stands do, it's not really a choice. You know, unless the Howlers call."

"The Howlers?" Stiles said, the sudden reverence in Scott's voice causing Stiles to pause. They'd gotten out of the car and had started walking towards the beach. He quickly caught back up with Scott.

Scott smirked. "They're the best a capella group on campus. They don't come to auditions though. If they want you, they'll find you. They never have to worry about recruitment. Ever since Derek Hale enrolled, they've won the championships three years in a row," he said, his eyes brimming with what looked like pride the way most people do when their favorite sports team won the Super Bowl or the Stanley Cup.

They'd reached the beach now. Bonfires were sprouted up like candle flames along the beach, with one large bonfire in the center. But because this was up north, the beach was surrounded on either side by forest, and no one was swimming, the ocean too cold at this time of year. Music was playing loudly from unseen speakers though, and the beach was full of students, most with red solo cups in their hands or cans or bottles of some sorts.

The weather was nice enough, with just a cool breeze, that most of the guys were in short sleeves and shorts and the girls were in shorts or skirts or dresses. That was about the extent of Stiles' clothing terminology. All he'd done to change was take a quick shower, threw on a plain, lagoon blue shirt and some dark jeans. Scott had tried to talk him into some hair jel, which Stiles could have actually used since he'd let his hair finally grow out over the summer, deciding he could use a new look for university, but he decided that tonight was not the night for experimenting and had gone with just letting the water do whatever it wanted. Which ended up meaning his hair curled around his temples while the rest moved in some sort of wave that actually looked pretty decent, and Stiles couldn't recreate if he tried.

"Derek Hale?" repeated Stiles, mentally running through the catalogue of Hales he'd tried to shove into his brain during the scholarship dinner, but came up blank.

Scott just nodded absently, his mind seemingly elsewhere now as he scanned the crowd, standing on his toes, his neck straining.

Stiles smirked. The man was already love sick and college hadn't even started yet. "I'll go grab us some beers."

"Cool, thanks." Scott didn't turn around.

Stiles laughed to himself and headed in the general flow of traffic until he found a keg and filled two cups. As he waited, he took a minute to look around and take in his first college party. There was a steady buzz from the crowd as some people swayed to the music, pearls of laughter or excited shouting intermittently spiking through the hum of voices. Everyone was smiling or laughing, some flirting innocently, more than some trying to get laid, new friendships being made and old friends reuniting again, all the while music thrummed in the background, a unifying factor in the mass of chaos that was college students.

Yeah, Stiles could get used to this.

It took him a bit to find Scott again, but when he did, he was still alone and still searching the crowd like a child who'd lost his parent in the grocery store. "Dude, who even is this girl?" Stiles asked with a laugh as he handed him a cup.

"Allison, she went to school with me," he said, finally looking away from the crowd. "She's a year older than me, but we were in the same grade because she moved schools a lot when she was younger. We had History together though. She asked to borrow my pencil once."

* * *

For the next couple of hours, Stiles and Scott just walked around. Occasionally Scott would stop by a group of people when he recognized someone, and he'd introduce Stiles. Scott had grown up in Beacon Hills, which was why he already knew his way around campus so well, he'd explained, and why he recognized a few people.

They were still unable to find Allison, but as the night went on and Scott had more to drink, he relaxed a little and just enjoyed the party. Stiles, on the other hand, people-watched as they stood around one of the bonfires. He'd had a fair bit to drink, but he just had a good buzz going, and he found himself trying to guess who here looked pretentious enough to be in the award winning a capella group the Howlers.

He'd already seen Jackson a couple of times, surrounded by hoards of girls and guys alike, of course acting like he was too good for most of them, though Stiles could tell the guy was absolutely reveling in the attention. Guys like him always did. And if this guy wasn't even the leader of the best a capella group on campus and he was this cocky, Stiles couldn't even imagine what kind of guy Derek Hale was.

Mostly he was concerned because he knew that he'd run into the guy eventually. Jackson he could avoid for the next four years if he really wanted to, but since Stiles would have to work for the Hales as part of the scholarship, there was going to be no way of avoiding him. The guy was already ridiculously rich, add talented onto that and Stiles shuddered to think how the guy would act towards him. Stiles had been shoved into countless lockers, been the target at every dodge ball game, and had been called every name under Jupiter's 63 moons. He wasn't scared.

_Bring it on, Derek Hale_, Stiles thought in a buzzed haze, _I'm not afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.  
_  
"Do you sing at all?" Stiles asked, nudging Scott, who was scanning the crowd again.

He shrugged. "I'm okay," he said a little wistfully. "I mean, I can hold a note, but I'm not going to be winning any Nationals, you know? You?"

Stiles shrugged modestly. "You know, here and there. In the shower like everyone else, mostly."

Stiles' dad had always said that the only reason he could put up with Stiles singing all the time was because he was as good as Stiles' mother. Stiles always denied that, vehemently. He didn't remember a lot about his mom, and as the years went on, to his dismay, he remembered less and less, but one thing he would never forget was her singing voice. She didn't just sing like an angel, she sang like she had the voice of the heavens.

The sheriff had tried encouraging Stiles countless times over the years to join his musical theater club, but Stiles got shoved into enough lockers, thank you very much, and he didn't need to spend anymore time in them. He'd gone to singing lessons before his mom died, but after that, he couldn't bring himself to go back. Now, it was just something he enjoyed now and again.

Stiles started to say something else, when a hush fell over the crowd of students. The sudden silence sent a chill down his spine. Instinctively Stiles started pushing through the crowd. Being a sheriff's son, he'd come to learn some cues to look out for that tipped off when something bad had happened, and an entire mass of drunken students all quieting down at the same time? Yeah, that couldn't be good.

But when Stiles finally broke through the crowd, all he saw was the large bonfire. No one was on fire, or screaming, or hurt even, two drunken idiots weren't squaring off, ready to kill each other over words neither of them would remember tomorrow.

It took a minute, but Stiles realized that everyone was staring at the group of people standing behind the fire, their backs to the sea. Stiles' stomach threatened to evacuate itself through his mouth. He recognized the guy standing at the front of the group, which consisted of eight people after a quick head count.

It was the guy Stiles had sang at in the car earlier that day. The one he'd been banking on never seeing again anywhere but his dreams. The freakishly, inhumanly attractive one. The one who put Jackson Whittemore to absolute shame. This guy had a body sculpted by the gods themselves, Stiles could tell even though he was wearing a leather jacket. Dark facial hair ran the length of his strong jawline, reaching up to the thick crop of hair that sat atop his head, looking slightly messy, but Stiles knew it was jelled to perfection.

The rest of the people in the group must be the same ones who'd been walking with him because Stiles recognized a few, like the blonde girl standing at his side, just a step behind him, and the boy behind her with dark blond, curly hair.

"That's them!" Scott whispered excitedly in his ear, grasping his shoulders from behind. "Those are the Howlers."

Holy shit. That was Derek Hale? Stiles' lungs and kidneys were about to follow his stomach. The fire was low enough, the flames reaching maybe up to Derek Hale's knees, so that the members of the group were all visible, but a warm orange, almost eerily glow was thrown over them.

A different sort of chill crept down Stiles' spine as he looked over the impossibly attractive group, words failing him for once. Despite their beauty, Stiles detected something slightly...off about them, but he couldn't quite place it yet.

He turned to say something to Scott, when a voice stopped him. Stiles whipped back around. Derek was still standing there, his hands clasped behind his back, his face a blank mask, but his lips were moving as he stared broodingly at the audience, no one else made a sound except for the gentle lapping of the ocean behind him. The only part of him that seemed to be moving were his eyes as they smoldered at the audience in a way Stiles swore was illegal.

*"Lately I been, I been losing sleep  
Dreaming about the things that we could be  
But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard  
Said no more countin' dollars  
We'll be countin' stars  
Yeah, we'll be countin'...stars."

Suddenly, the people behind Derek came alive, sliding out as one, starting to hum and sing wordlessly, somehow creating a tune that produced the same sound as the song Stiles recognized as One Republic's hit single "Counting Stars."

Just as suddenly, the crowd around Stiles began to sway, a steady energy building among the mass of students. The people in the Howlers were swaying their hips, moving their arms in the air freely as they set the beat of the music. Only Derek remained in place, but now his right foot was tapping into the ground in time with the song, his right knee bouncing as he started singing again.

"I see this life  
Like a swinging vine  
Swing my heart across the line  
In my face is flashing signs  
Seek it out and ye shall find

Old, but I'm not that old  
Young, but I'm not that bold  
And I don't think the world is sold  
I'm just doing what we're told."

Derek's voice had a raw quality to it that gave the song an even rockier feel to it, and he even managed to hit the slightly higher notes on the next set of lyrics. All Stiles could do was stare. The guy's voice was like none he'd ever heard before. Smooth, yet gravely on certain words, like sharing a glass of dark, fine red wine next to a fireplace with your partner, then shattering the glasses against the wall and tearing into each other. The man's voice was sex, the earthy, ethereal smell of a secret forest, and the pure exhaustion you felt, the hollowing out of your insides, after you've gotten done sobbing. But it was also fresh like the smell after a rainstorm, and melodic, drumming against Stiles' skin until he could feel it in his bones.

And then the rest of the Howlers joined in, harmonizing with Derek, and the energy of the crowd exploded.

_"Lately I been, I been losing sleep  
Dreaming about the things that we could be  
But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard  
Said no more counting dollars  
We'll be countin' stars  
Lately I been, I been losing sleep  
Dreaming about the things that we could be  
But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard  
Said no more counting dollars  
We'll be, we'll be countin' stars."_

All around Stiles people jumped up and down, their hands in the air. The atmosphere was more intoxicating than the liquor ever was. Stiles couldn't take his eyes off of Derek Hale. Even the brooding leader was getting into it more now, his shoulders shaking with the music, his head bobbing along as he looked at the other members, and those _hips_...Stiles felt a flash of heat shoot through his body. The guy had rhythm despite his bulkier size. _Damn_ did he have rhythm.

"I feel the love  
And I feel it burn  
Down this river every turn  
Hope is a four letter word  
Make that money  
Watch it burn

_Old, but I'm not that old  
Young, but I'm not that bold_  
And I don't think the world is sold  
I'm just doing what we're told

And I feel something so wrong  
By doing the right thing  
I could lie, could lie, could lie  
Everything that downs me makes me wanna fly."

And then the chorus hit again and Stiles was lost to the music, lost to the bodies that bumped into him. He moved with them, like he was lying in the ocean, letting the waves pull and push his body. It was like a trance had fallen over them all, and they were all powerless to do anything else. Stiles had never witnessed something, not anything natural, that had ever caused such a euphoria, and never in this large of a group.

And then, as one, everyone quieted. The Howlers stopped singing and went still, standing around Derek, slightly further back this time, and began to clap in time with each other. Stiles watched as if in slow motion, like the audience had all held a collective breath, as one of them came up and kicked the stack of logs, sending a burst of tiny, red hot embers burning into the sky, exploding like fireworks just as Derek began to sing:

"Take that money  
Watch it burn  
Sink in the river  
The lessons I learned"

And then the rest jumped in and the crowd exploded again, the trance shattering. They clapped along this time.

_"Take that money  
Watch it burn  
Sink in the river  
The lessons I learned"_

They sang that a few times over before fading back, and Derek stepped forward, and, Stiles swore, locked eyes with him as he sang:

"Everything that kills meeeee...makes me feel alive."

And then Derek was looking elsewhere and the noise of the crowd drowned out everything else. Stiles wouldn't be able to remember how the rest of the song went after that point. Only a gentle, rhythmic buzzing could be heard because all he could do was stare at Derek Hale. His lips, his shoulders, his hands, his legs, his hips, those hips, and those eyes. Those eyes that he could have sworn flashed a brilliant blue as he started at Stiles, holding that note, but then he blinked and all he saw were dark pools.

It was Scott shaking his shoulders that finally pulled Stiles out of his trance and made him realize that the song had ended. The Howlers were all laughing and whooping, hugging each other and clapping each other on the back.

And then the crowd was all tipping their heads back, and they began to howl.

_Ah-wooooo!_

Ah-wooooo!

Ah-ah-ah woooooo!

Stiles turned on the spot, looking questioningly at the crowd, not understanding. The Howlers made no move to join the crowd, but instead smiled at them and clapped.

"What was _that_?" Stiles asked Scott when it was over.

He shrugged, smiling. "I dunno. It's kind of something people started doing after a Howler's performance. We do it instead of clapping."

The corner of Stiles' mouth quirked up. It seemed strange, but he actually kind of liked it. "Are they all students here?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the Howlers, who were all being mobbed now and offered drinks. It was a stupid question he realized after he asked it, because obviously they were students if they were in the group, but luckily Scott seemed to catch what he actually meant to ask.

"Yeah. That one is Derek Hale, like I said; he's a senior. The dark haired girl there is Cora Hale, his sister, and the blonde girl is Erica Reyes; they're both Juniors. The twins are Ethan and Aiden Carver and along with Danny Mahealani, the darker skinned guy, who's also Ethan's boyfriend; they're also juniors. Isaac Lahey, the blond with the curls, and Eddy Zacker, the red-head, are both sophomores."

Stiles just nodded. Every part of him wanted to go up and introduce himself to the Howlers. That seemed to be a residual effect of one of their performances though, according to Scott. Mostly, Stiles wanted to make up for making an idiot of himself in front of the entire group earlier that day, but then he realized he'd probably make an even bigger idiot of himself because they probably wouldn't even have any idea who he was or what he was talking about.

But because he couldn't help it, Stiles scanned the group for Derek, and found him standing slightly away from everyone else, the brooding look back on his face, his dark features making him look even more intimidating. He didn't seem to enjoy the limelight the way Jackson did, or maybe he was such a dick that he thought he was too good to even be by anyone else?

Before Stiles could debate the question further, the sound of police sirens began whirling in the distance.

"COPS!" someone shouted, and all at once, everyone scattered.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Again, if you'd like, go ahead and go back and listen to the songs while they "play" in the story. It really does make it more fun. Also, quick note, whenever I do italics during lyrics that will usually indicate either it's just a song that's playing and no one is singing, or that, while someone is singing, the italics will represent more than one person singing while just regular font means it's a single person. if that's confusing, I promise it'll make more sense as the chapters go on and you see it more ^_^**

**Thanks again for reading. What'd you think? I spent a loooong time writing this chapter, and as much as I enjoyed writing this, if it's not something people are interested then i'd like to know because I'll put that effort into something people actually enjoy because I have a very busy schedule with my job and my school work, so I need some priorities, haha.**

**So, please, if you liked it, let me know, I'd love to hear from you!**

**Oh! Also, I actually saw this as a sort of "prompt" a very long time ago on here. A girl posted something she'd thought of, and I asked her if i could write it myself to which she responded, "uh, duh," haha. I apologize for not remembering who that was because this is literally a year later, so if that was you please let me know so I can give you some credit for that at least. I'm putting my own spin on it as well, but definitely want to give you credit for the name "The Howlers."**

**One more side note, I thought of the "Acabellas" myself, though it was inspired from the name "Bellas" from the movie Pitch Perfect, which this is a sort of AU of, lol, cuz I wondered why they didn't name their group that in the movie, but it's totally possible that it's actually a legit name of a group somewhere. The "One Note Stands" though I did barrow from the internet because I wanted to give Jackson's group the sleaziest name possible, lol, so yeah, just wanted to give credit where credit is due. Thanks!**


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